The Partnership
by Enchanting Grace
Summary: What is the price of partnership? One partner must determine that when he loses his friend and coworker. And it's up to Alfred and Ivan to hold him together long enough to get him home. AU. Rusame/Frain


**A/N:**

What is the price of partnership? One partner must determine that when he loses his friend and coworker. And it's up to Alfred and Ivan to hold him together long enough to get him home. K+ for suggested violence.

Primary Characters:

1\. Alfred Jones

2\. Ivan Braginsky

Secondary Characters:

1\. Francis Bonnefoy

2\. Antonio Carriedo

Tertiary Characters:

1\. Romano Vargas

2\. Ludwig Beilschmidt

3\. Wang Yao

4\. Marrielle

5\. Enrique Salazar

6\. Arthur Kirkland

7\. Michelle

* * *

 **The Partnership**

He stumbled to a stop beside a garbage can, almost knocking it over as he slammed into it. A cat exploded from inside and raced away with a screech. From a safe distance, it yowled a curse at him and hurried away into the lengthening shadows.

It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious. He couldn't catch his breath any longer. The fall from the fire escape had broken at least a couple of his ribs, keeping him from drawing in a good breath without the fear of passing out. His vision was red-tinged and he could feel blood trickling down his back, his belly, even down his legs. He wasn't going to get out of this one.

"I was born lucky," he'd bragged to his partner only this morning.

 _But you won't die that way_ , he thought, as he used the trash can to pull himself up to his feet and take a staggering step towards a large green garbage bin. With a trembling hand, he took the micro dot and pressed it just inside the lip of the receptacle, using his own blood as glue to bond it to the metal. It was doubtful anyone would ever find it, but at least the info was safe.

He just wished he'd been able to tell his partner how he'd really felt, say all the things he'd meant to say, but just never got around to. He had hoped they'd grow old together, two old spies swapping increasingly unlikely stories as their days dwindled down.

He was still thinking of his partner when the first bullet ripped through his heart. He never felt the two that went into his head. He never saw the man lying just a few feet from him, face down in a puddle of water and urine.

* * *

Ivan Braginski looked down at his watch and sighed. _Where was Alfred?_ He leaned back in the seat and resisted beating on the steering wheel in frustration. _A simple, routine courier transfer; how long could a pick up take?_

Even though he wore dark glasses and looked for the world as if he was dozing, he watched everything around the car. There were few pedestrians and the traffic rumbled by at a steady rate. All in all, it couldn't be more normal. The day was muggy and the hour growing late. The grit from the city clung to his skin and the confines of the car brought out sweat that flecked his upper lip and forehead. It was late; it was time for them to be done with this… so, where was Alfred?

 _Another five minutes and I'll go look for him. To hell with what Arthur might have to say…_ The thought was interrupted by the opening of the car door. His hand went for his weapon reflexively, even as Alfred slid easily into the vehicle.

"About time; what did you do? Have a suit fitted in between drops?"

"Francis never showed up." Alfred loosened his tie. "I was at the rendezvous point in plenty of time. He never made it."

"Captured?"

"It's safe to assume… or worse." Alfred then smiled slightly. "Or else I missed him."

"He's five foot nine and acts as a lustrous damsel, Alfred. You can't miss him. Even the women back at home would not stoop to such levels."

"He is rather Baroque to your Rococo, a mastiff to your whippet, a Doric column to your Corinthe…"

"I have achieved the necessary visual image Alfred, thank you." Ivan glanced at his watch again. "Do you want to wait and try again? Perhaps he was delayed?"

"He didn't call it in."

"What about his partner?"

"Antonio hasn't heard anything either. He's a little frantic."

"I can understand." Ivan started up the car, then dragged his fingers through his hair, carrying it up and off his sweat-speckled forehead. "Alfred, what was on the microdot he was carrying? Do we know?"

"Section One Classified. Surprisingly enough, even I am not privy to everything at UNCLE."

"But you're on the fast track to Section One, I'd thought…"

"You thought wrong… and that's what bothers me, my friend." Alfred tapped his lips with his forefinger. "Francis would have been blind, deaf, and dumb about this, just in case he was captured."

The silence hung between them for a long moment. "It's a helluva business we're in."

"You said a mouthful."

Ivan flicked a glance up into his rearview mirror and watched as a garbage truck slowed for a turn into the alley. It gave him a chance to pull out into traffic. _What kind of luck was that?_

* * *

"Okay… slow now… Don't plow into this one…" There was nothing that Romano Vargas hated more than training newbies. Yet, here he was, training yet another new hire. "Crank your wheel!"

"I can't!"

Vargas was half tempted to pull the man from behind the wheel and show him how it was done – again! If this kept up, he was going to be late for the game and that meant he'd be late for his dinner. He didn't think so!

"Hang on, I'll move it out so you have a straight shot!" he shouted over the truck's engine, and before jumping out.

Walking around to the far side, he grabbed the metal and stopped as something slicked his gloves. That's when he looked down, seeing the dead man. He gagged and turned, then saw the second body and realized he was going to have a lot more on his plate, than a missed ball game that night.

* * *

"So what are you feeling like for dinner this evening?"

Alfred smiled and worked his lips for a moment. "Oh, something tasty and petite…"

"Don't you ever think of anything else?" Ivan scolded as he split his attention between his partner and the traffic.

"I was thinking of a nice filet mignon, Ivan. Perhaps it's not my mind that needs to be corralled." Alfred chuckled at the grimace on his partner's face. "And for the record, yes I do."

"You eat too much red meat, Alfred."

"Not possible."

"There are some studies…"

"And there are other studies to refute anything the first studies found. A nice piece of medium rare steak, a crisp green salad with just a splash of vinegar and oil dressing and a good full-bodied red wine - Nature's perfect meal."

"You will, of course, pardon me if I refrain from commenting. As it is, it might well be impossible to hear me over the hardening of your arteries."

"Rage on, mad –-" Alfred's communicator went off and he pulled it out of his jacket. "Jones here."

"Mr. Jones, you need to return to headquarters. This is Condition Orange, repeat, this is Condition Orange." The channel went dead and he was left staring at the instrument.

"Alfred?" For a moment, it was as if his partner had fallen deaf. "Alfred, what is Condition Orange? I've never heard of it before."

"It means all the heads of Section One have been sequestered in a secured facility. Section One has been breached."

* * *

Ivan Braginski sat at his desk and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night and the worst was still ahead of him. With Arthur and the other Number Ones in hiding, running the Northeast section of the organization had fallen squarely upon Alfred's shoulders. It wasn't that he didn't have the ability or the willingness to step into Arthur's shoes, but it meant that Ivan had to assume the CEA duties. There was one particular aspect he just wasn't relishing.

He'd spent the last hour arguing with the Metro Police, trying to convince them to release Francis's body back to them. He didn't understand their proprietary attitude. A city worker had found the agent's body and that meant the city was investigating. Never mind that their reluctance could bring UNCLE down. That didn't seem to be of any concern to them. They would rather stand on ceremony than do what was right.

The door to his office opened, but he didn't look up to see who it was. He already knew. A moment later, he felt hands, strong, warm, and familiar on his shoulders. Ivan knew Alfred was as bothered by what had happened, as disturbed by Ivan's next duty, as he was.

"How goes the rat race?" Alfred dug his thumbs into the knotted muscles.

Ivan grunted and leaned back against Alfred's hands. "The rats are winning."

"If it's any consolation, the police are releasing Francis to us as we speak."

"You convinced them?"

"The governor did. Arthur made a call. Is he on his way in?"

"Any minute now, but I'm sure he knows why. They've been together nearly as long as we. A partner knows such things." Ivan grimaced as Alfred's grip tightened for a second. In that moment, so much passed between them, the fears and terror they both fought back all the time, the worry, the concern, the friendship, the love- all those words flashed by.

"Do you want me to…?"

"No, I'm acting CEA; you have enough on your plate."

"Just wanted you to know I was willing."

"Thank you."

Alfred slapped Ivan's shoulders and walked from the room.

After a moment, Ivan lifted a phone receiver and dialed a number.

"Beilschmidt."

"This is Braginski, I wanted to give you a heads up that you have an agent coming in. The city has had him for awhile, so I'm not sure how compromised he'll be."

The ME's voice was stern. "Who, Mr. Braginski?"

"Francis Bonnefoy."

A pause.

"I'm so sorry; he was a good agent and a friend."

 _'More than you'll ever know',_ he thought _._ "Yes."

"Does his partner know yet?"

"No."

"Godspeed, Ivan."

"Thank you." He cradled the receiver and reached for a file folder. He still didn't have a clue what Francis had been carrying, no idea if it had been found by THRUSH, no idea if their organization was in jeopardy or not. So far, THRUSH hadn't made any threatening moves, outside of the usual. They didn't even seem to realize the Section Ones had vanished from view. So far, all the chatter they'd intercepted was business as usual. It could be that Francis had managed to hide the microdot or destroy it. Or, more likely, the THRUSH hierarchy just hadn't figured out what to do with this choice bit of information.

There was a knock to his door and Ivan felt his gut clench. He pulled in a deep breath.

"Come in."

Antonio Carriedo was Francis's polar opposite. A short, light-complexioned, flaming brunnete, Ivan's first impression of the man had been that he'd finally met someone in UNCLE who stood out as much as he did. Antonio was a bull terrier to Francis's St. Bernard. He was fast, agile, and adept at getting in and out of places that would challenge most men. He was fast to defend, quick to anger, and just as quick to forgive. When he was your friend, he was steadfast. And he was always laughing, but not today.

Today he walked in, his narrow shoulders stooped, his manner sedate.

"Antonio."

"Ivan." The man looked around. "Where's Alfred?"

"The Big Chair." Ivan motioned to the ceiling with his head.

"Falls to you then, does it?"

"What?"

"Francis's gone, isn't he?" He sighed and tapped his chest. "I felt it in here; I just knew. One minute he was fine and the next, he was gone. I knew, just like you'd know."

"Then you know what I need to do next."

"Ivan, please, I'm asking you as a friend, not as an agent, not as my superior; please don't pull me now."

"I have to."

"And I have to make the men who did this pay!" Antonio slammed his hand down and the movement sent papers flying. Neither man paid the least bit of attention to them.

"It's exactly that attitude that requires us to pull you. I can't let you go out into the field with that sort of blood lust, Antonio. You could very well end up just as dead as your partner. We can't lose both of you."

"And no one knows my partner better than I do… did." His breath caught and Ivan moved to grab him. For a long moment, he just held the man as his shoulders heaved with the almost soundless sobs. Ivan just hung on, not speaking, not moving- just silently praying to any god who might be listening, he'd never be in the other man's position. Even godless Communists needed to hedge their bets once in awhile.

Gradually, Antonio calmed and still Ivan remained quiet. No amount of sentiment or professed shared feelings could help right now.

"Is he here?"

"Soon."

"Will I be able to see him? Take him home?"

"Once Dr. Yao has had a chance to examine him." Ivan directed Tony to a chair. He went to Alfred's desk and dug around for a moment, pulling out a flask. He poured two finger's worth into a paper cup and urged it on the Spaniard. The brune downed it in one gulp and coughed. Ivan settled in a chair beside him. "And just because you can't go into the field, it doesn't mean you can't help."

"What good can I be here?"

"You said it yourself - you knew Francis better than anyone else could have known him. Tony, what would he have done with the microdot? Ingest it?"

"No, he had a real problem with stuff like that. He would do anything you asked of him, except carry stuff internally. He said that were too many weird chemicals… he was afraid of cancer… guess he's beyond that now." Ivan emptied the rest of the alcohol into the glass and Tony stared at it. "He would have hidden it, probably in plain sight _if_ and _when,_ he realized he didn't have any other recourse. It's what he did best. People didn't think he was smart, but he was."

"I know." Ivan patted his shoulder and stood, walking over to the phone, lifting the receiver. "This is Braginski; I want a team of men dispatched to the alley where we lost Agent Bonnefoy. Bring everything back here that isn't nailed down, every piece of trash, everything." He hung up without waiting for an acknowledgement.

Tony stared at the cup. After a long moment, he murmured. "What can I do?"

"You can't leave the facilities right now, not for forty-eight hours. I need someone who can tell us what to look for. Without you, it'll just be garbage and we'll be groping in the dark."

"Okay…" Tony started to stand and Ivan coughed. The brune sighed and then reached in and pulled out his P-38, offering it butt first to Ivan. "I'd never shoot myself," he said softly. "Too many ways it could go wrong. Besides, what would Francis say?"

"That you are a good friend and a good agent."

He nodded and walked from the room. After he left, Ivan released the breath he'd been holding. The phone rang and for a moment he considered ignoring it. Then he snatched it up. "Braginski."

"Ivan." Dr. Yao's voice was soothing. "I just wanted to let you know that Francis is back with us."

"Thank you. Let me know if you find anything, Doctor."

"Are you all right?"

 _Sure, my partner's sitting in an office a couple of floors up, possibly frustrated and overwhelmed, but safe. I won't have to worry about cleaning out his locker, being reminded of him every time I walk into the gym or the canteen. I'm just fucking fine. No problem – I'm not the one who just lost my best friend. Things couldn't be better._ Aloud, he said, "Yes. I'll be down in a few minutes."

He hung up the receiver, then snatched it back up and dialed.

"Jones." His partner's voice was slightly frazzled and hoarse, but…

"Alfred…" Then the words failed him, a thick rubber ball lodged in his throat. His brain flailed helplessly, searching for something, anything.

"It's okay, Ivan… I know." And without speaking, Ivan cradled the phone, sniffed, and rubbed at his eyes. Then squaring his shoulders, he headed for the morgue.

* * *

Alfred looked at the receiver for a long time, wishing his usual glib tongue, hadn't gotten stuck at the back of his throat. Ivan didn't usually have to see this part of Alfred's job. He'd occasionally accompanied Alfred to visit the family of a fallen agent, but he'd rather _not_ have to deal with the job of telling a partner. In some ways, it was harder than telling a mother or father that their child had died protecting the world, making it safe for countless others. To look into the eyes of a highly trained and experienced agent and watch him crumble, was the most gut-wrenching, horror imaginable.

A light blinked and he leaned over to toggle the switch up. "Jones."

"Mr. Jones, you asked to be regularly updated." Marielle's voice was all business- cool and efficient.

"Yes, Marielle, please tell me you have something."

"Unless THRUSH has a new code we know nothing about, the chatter has been all routine. They did report the death of a person this morning. They didn't identify him except as a man in his early thirties, golden hair, light complexion."

"Francis."

There was a long pause and Alfred tapped the intercom. "Marielle?"

"That's what's odd Alfred." The woman's voice dropped into a confidential whisper. "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?"

"They did have two people dispatched to intercept Francis and they did stop him, but he escaped. THRUSH did report recapture and the subsequent death, but not of an UNCLE agent…. sir."

"I am not sure I'm following you, ."

"Alfred, I have no way of proving this, aside from four years of monitoring the chatter back and forth between us and them, but they never, ever, fail to ID a fallen UNCLE agent and do their little victory dance. It's like they have this board with all our field agents' names on it: The higher up the victim, they more they gloat. People are promoted for taking down one of ours. Francis was pretty high up the ladder, right behind Arthur and Ludwig. Taking him out would mean a corner office for someone."

"How unlikely would it be that they mis-ID'd their victim?"

"They carry mug shots of you guys in their wallets – it's not likely."

* * *

Ivan steeled himself outside the double door. He hated the way this place smelled. Anyone who would want to do this for a living must be truly mad.

The doctor glanced over as he entered and smiled. "Good afternoon, Mr. Braginski."

"Doctor Yao." He walked up to the table and grimaced. A body was stretched out on the table. It looked like Francis, but Ivan knew everything that had made it his fellow agent was gone and this was but a shell of flesh and bones.

"Agent Bonnefoy put up a mighty battle. He had several contusions and two broken ribs. He'd suffered a puncture wound to his back, which had nicked a major vein. He was dead even before he was shot; I suspect he knew it."

"As would his captors. Did his stomach contents reveal anything?" Ivan didn't look at the metal bowl set off to one side.

"Are you asking if he'd internalized whatever it was he was carrying?"

"Yes."

"No. I found nothing that shouldn't have been there, with the exception of blood. You can check for yourself if you'd like." The ME took a step and Ivan shook his head.

"No, I will take your word – thank you."

"A bit of a curiosity though. Whoever killed him put one bullet into his heart and another two into his head."

"What?" Ivan held an x-ray up to the lights and frowned. "That makes no sense."

"I don't understand. Killing each other, I thought it's what you did."

Ivan glared at him. "Not without cause. If he hadn't passed the information, THRUSH would have continued to ply their trade, as it were, and kept him alive until they had what they wanted or he died. A dead agent is of no use to them. If they'd already obtained the information, they wouldn't have bothered. They would have just walked away. THRUSH isn't in the business of wasting ammunition or time. They would have shot him once and left him, not three times."

"If that's the case, my young friend, then why did they shoot him three times?"

"I don't know…" Ivan glanced over at the body on the metal table. "But I'm sure as hell going to find out."

* * *

Alfred glanced up as Ivan entered. "Please tell me you have good news."

"All right, I have good news."

"Great, what is it?"

"No idea, I'm just doing what you asked." Ivan took his usual spot at the table. "The reason I'm here is that we have a quandary downstairs."

"As opposed to the one I'm chewing on." Alfred stood and walked over to Arthur's wet bar. He poured two fingers worth of whiskey in two glasses and carried them back. "What's yours?"

"Why would THRUSH shoot a dead man three times?" Ivan took one of the glasses and held it up, studying the liquor as if it would reveal an answer.

"They wouldn't. What's the point?"

"Exactly. Francis was bleeding to death. If THRUSH had what they wanted, they'd have left him, just as they have mistakenly left us a time or two."

"Or three."

"If they hadn't gotten the microdot, they'd have kept him alive. Antonio said that Francis wouldn't have ingested it, so it stands to reason…"

"It's still out there."

"No."

Both men turned, reaching for their guns. Antonio was standing there, his face gray and blank of any expression.

Alfred was immediately on his feet and at Antonio's side, propelling him to the table and into a chair. Ivan pushed his untouched glass closer and nodded.

He took the glass in a steady grip and downed the contents in one gulp. He gasped and then coughed, blinking back tears.

"Arthur only gets the good stuff," Alfred said, patting him on the back. Tony nodded and Alfred jerked his head towards the bar. Ivan was on his feet to retrieve the bottle and a third glass a second later. He sloshed a bit more whiskey into the glass and settled back down.

For a long moment, the three just sat. Finally, Alfred raised his glass. "To our fallen comrades - may their sacrifices never be forgotten."

"To peace in our lifetime." Ivan murmured, touching his glass first to Alfred's and then Tony's.

"It's too late for Francis though," Tony snapped and gulped down the alcohol again. This time, he didn't cough. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled something out – it was small and smeared with something black… dried blood, Alfred belatedly realized. "That's what the bastards were after. Francis left it on the side of the trash bin."

Alfred sighed and smiled wryly. "Thanks Tony; now the Section Ones can come home."

"And that's all that matters, isn't it?"

"What? Of course not," Alfred started, but Ivan shook his head slightly.

"You're right." Ivan said. "But it's what we are, it's what we do. We keep them safe so the fight can go on- so the world can go on. They sit up here nice and safe, while we roll in the gutters, bleeding and dying."

"But you can't exactly put that into a job description." Alfred jokingly said. No one laughed.

Tony shook his head slowly and let it tip back. "I just want to sleep and wake up to find this is all a bad dream: with Francis pounding on my door and telling me to get my _culo flojo_ out of bed."

Alfred stood quietly and walked to a console. He spoke into an intercom there, too softly for Ivan to hear, but he still a detectable drill: Section Three would be coming to get Tony, escort him to Psych for observation, maybe a little grief counseling. This was just the beginning of a long trip for him– one, _none_ of them wanted to make, one that all of them avoided as agents – the price they paid for the job they did.

Then, as it so often happened, their world exploded around them and they were off at a dead run: desperately trying to keep one step ahead of THRUSH.

* * *

Ivan paid off the taxi as Alfred eased his way out of the car. He balanced his weight on his good leg until he could get his crutches under him again. Ivan glanced back once to make sure he was okay , before heading to the entrance of Del Floria's. He held the door open as Alfred grappled his way through it.

"You don't have to do this, you know. I can file the report on my own just fine."

"I want to make sure you spell my name right." Once inside the small tailor shop, Alfred felt a weight begin to lift. They were back home again, at least for a little while.

"Bit of bad luck, Mr. Jones?"

"Ended better for me than the THRUSH." Alfred smiled and made his way to the fitting room where Ivan waited, the door to reception already open.

A happy voiced greeted them. "Oh, Mr. Jones, you poor dear!" Michelle was so sympathetic, out of her chair and to his side in a heartbeat. She offered Ivan his badge and went off to render aid and comfort.

Ivan hid his smile as he took the badge and clipped it on. She didn't have to know exactly how Alfred had gotten hurt. "Alfred, if you could sally forth? I'd like to get to Medical before the capsule in my stomach dissolves completely and I have to go under the knife for retrieval."

"What? Oh, yes, by all means…" Alfred smiled at the receptionist and caressed her cheek with his fingers. "We'll talk later, my love." He followed Ivan through the doors.

"Honestly, Ivan, you're a slave driver," Alfred grumbled. "And when did you swallow something?"

"I didn't; it was the first thing I could come up with to get you away from her clutches."

"But they were such lovely clutches. I'm sure you noticed."

"I noticed." He stopped before an elevator door, stepping aside as they slid open to allow some fellow agents to disembark.

"They get younger every year, don't they?" Alfred watched the two men hurry past them, obviously on their way out on an assignment.

"No, we are getting older, but that's a good thing." Ivan caught the door before it slid shut and waited for Alfred to join him. "I'm just hoping we get a break before we have to leave again. I could do with a couple of nights in my own bed."

Alfred started to grin and Ivan shook his head. "What am I going to do with you, Alfred?"

"Love me for what I am, I suppose."

The door opened and a pair of Section Two's stepped in. One seemed vaguely familiar.

"Enrique? Enrique Salazar?" Alfred asked, shifting one of his crutches out of the agents' way.

" _¿Sí?"_ He studied Alfred for a moment, frowning.

"Barcelona, right?"

"Sí."

"We were in the same class at Survival School. Alfred Jones."

 _"¿Alfredo_ ," his voice drawing, before lighting up in recognition. " _¿Alfredo? Te ves bien!"_ He turned to his companion and spoke in rapid Spanish. Alfred kept up with about half of what he was saying. " _Las mujeres, que lo aman y los hombres también, creo_."

"That's not true," Alfred countered.

" _¿No es?"_ Ivan teased. "I saw how that guard was eyeing you."

Alfred scowled at him and returned to Enrique. "Why are you here?"

He shrugged. "Your boss tells my boss you are… ¿ _cuál es la palabra, corta las manos?"_

"Short-handed? We are?" Ivan asked Alfred, who shrugged.

"News to me, but we have been gone for awhile."

The elevator stopped. Ivan stepped out and aside to keep the doors from slamming shut.

"Take care, Enrique; stay safe."

"And you."

* * *

Their office was very much the same as they had left it. Someone had taken pity on them and thrown out the remains of their interrupted meal, then removed the trash. Sadly, no one had extended that rash of tidiness to their desks. Both were stacked with reports, papers and print outs.

"My desk was clean when I left. I swear it was clear."

"You probably left two pieces and they procreated."

"Do you ever turn your voice off?"

"Not if I can help it." Alfred carefully lowered himself into his chair and sighed happily. He massaged his armpits. "It keeps my mind off other things."

"Such as work?"

"Such as my aching underarms. I hate the first couple of days on crutches." He lifted his leg up and propped it on the side of the trash can.

Ivan pulled off his coat, wincing as the movement pulled stitches, and made aching muscles reawaken. "I figure we have about thirty minutes before Medical gets wind of the fact that we are here and either hauls us down there, or sends us home." He opened a drawer and shuffled through some papers before finding a blank report form. "You talk, I'll write."

Alfred picked up a pencil and began to play with it. " _Okay_ , as instructed, I flew to Denmark and you headed for Holland… was that the twelfth or the thirteenth?"

"I thought it was the eighth… no, wait." Ivan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small note book. "The eleventh… we must have been having fun."

"My knee is throbbing with such so-called fun. So, I got in and headed straight for the local UNCLE office… and you?"

They went back and forth with this for several more minutes, before the phone rang. Alfred glanced at his watch and held it up for display. "Twenty three minutes – Medical's running fast today."

Ivan smirked and picked up the line. "Braginski. Yes sir, I understand…" He cradled it and pushed the report aside, and massaged a temple. "Kirkland wants us."

"Is that all he said?"

"Ah… now?" Ivan stood and reluctantly put his jacket back on. "He had that tone in his voice, my friend."

Alfred got to his feet and reached for his crutches. "I wonder where we are headed next."

"You, probably a nice comfortable bed with plenty of lovely nurses to hover over you, and me, probably on a plane to Istanbul in two hours. I should just set up a cot at the airport next to the phones to save time."

"Oh, now there's a fun little pity party."

* * *

Arthur was sitting in his chair, pipe in his hands, looking very old indeed. When they entered, he rose and gestured to the couch. It was odd: while the couch was more comfortable than the table, it was for guests, not the hired help.

"Gentlemen, I know that you have only just arrived back and you must both be ready for a little down time, but…"

"Here it comes," Alfred muttered, prompting a chastising look from his partner.

"There's some rather unfortunate news that I would rather have you hear from me than elsewhere." He dumped ice cubes and poured alcohol into the same glasses they'd used just a few weeks earlier to toast. The irony didn't escape either agent. "Please be seated."

They did as they were bid and Arthur handed them each a glass in turn. "Salute, gentlemen."

" _Nostrovia_." Ivan downed his in one gulp and smiled as the alcohol hit his stomach.

"Cheers." Alfred sipped his, mostly to make it last and also to keep the pain killers he was on from having a fit.

"You two have been out of the country for three weeks?"

"Closer to five, sir."

"I see…" Arthur stared out the window and Alfred exchanged a worried look with Ivan.

"Sir?"

"I'm very sorry to tell you that we have lost Agent Carreido."

"Antonio?" Alfred leaned forward questioningly. "What happened?"

"After you and Mr. Braginski left on your recent assignment, it was determined that Agent Bonnefoy had been the victim of misidentification. There was another body in the alley that night, a member of the Mafia. He had drawn the disfavor of the local bosses. Wounded, he'd stumbled into the same alley as our unfortunate Agent Bonnefoy. When their gunman entered the alley, he spotted Agent Bonnefoy and thought he was the target."

"That explains the shooting style," Ivan spoke quietly, as if only to himself.

"Yes." Arthur paused and took a sip of his drink. "When Agent Carreido discovered this, he took it very hard. He… ah... I believe the term is, went on the warpath, in essence, declaring war on the Mafia." Arthur's voice faltered for a moment, then resumed. "It… ended rather badly for him."

"Poor Tony… the Mafioso got him, did they?" Alfred grimaced. Those guys had no sense of humor.

"No, Jones, we did."

"What?" Ivan was on his feet. "Are you saying that we took down one of our own... for…"

"Only officially, Mr. Braginski. Agent Carreido is still alive, but he has no memory of us, this organization or even his own name…"

"That would include Francis too."

"Unfortunately, yes. For his own safety and ours, it was deemed necessary." There was a knock at the door and a nurse and doctor were standing there. "Now if you two will be good enough to accompany the doctor down to Medical…?"

* * *

Alfred kept an eye on his partner as much as he could. They were immediately ushered into a room, asked to strip to their shorts, and wait. Their bodies were resplendent with a kaleidoscope of bruising in various stages of healing. There were the usual rope burns and scrapes. Ivan had a couple of long gashes, the worse of which Alfred had stitched closed. Alfred's knee was swollen and hot to the touch.

He pulled a robe on and watched his partner as the doctor entered, examining first him and then Ivan. He watched as Ivan silently submitted to the exam, answering the doctor in monosyllables when he bothered to answer at all. He did nothing more than blink when the local was administered and the little bells going off in Alfred's head, became an all out alarm.

"You take three days off, Alfred. Bed rest… alone! I'm not joking," the doctor was saying, as Alfred dressed. Ivan had already bolted. His injuries had garnered a week of desk duty. He had hurriedly thrown on his clothes and left Alfred in his wake.

He hobbled back to his desk, half expecting Ivan to be pacing the small room, but it was as empty as they'd left it. He lifted the receiver and dialed.

"Reception."

"Has Agent Braginski left the building?"

"No, I haven't." Ivan's voice made him turn and he hung up the phone without another word.

"I was hoping you could give me a ride home. I have my car downstairs, but I think the clutch is going to be out of bounds for awhile."

"Of course."

They drove to Alfred's apartment in silence. Alfred recognized the uneasiness in his partner, but knew that the only way Ivan would open up, was when he was ready. There were times when Alfred would have tried to badger or wheedle the truth from his partner, but not now.

Ivan quietly carried the suitcase up to Alfred's apartment and waited for him to unlock the door.

"Drink?" Alfred asked as Ivan moved past him. He didn't wait for an answer, but headed towards the bar. When he turned, Ivan was already there with ice and the frosted vodka bottle.

They drank efficiently, patiently waiting for the alcohol to blur the edges. Alfred knew better than to try to match Ivan. As with food, the man seemed to have an enormous capacity. He'd only once made the mistake of trying to drink the Russian under the table. It had taken Alfred three days to sober up and Ivan was fine the next morning without even the decency to have a headache. So he nursed his drink while Ivan grimly worked at emptying the vodka bottle, watching, waiting, knowing that the moment would present itself.

"И в конце концов, это - все, что мы, пустое судно, которое будет отброшено как мусор." (And in the end, this is all we are: an empty vessel to be tossed aside like garbage.)

Alfred sighed and worked through the translation in his head. "Было бы легче, если бы Вы говорили на английском языке, Вы знаете." (It would be easier if you spoke English, you know.)

Ivan smiled tightly at that. "Sorry, I didn't realize I hadn't."

"You want to tell me what's going on in that head of yours, partner?"

"What makes you think there's anything going on?"

"Ivan, please, give me a little credit. You've been stewing ever since the meeting in Arthur's office. What's wrong? Is it Tony?"

"What's wrong? What's right?" Ivan was on his feet, pacing. "He just wanted what any man would have: to avenge his partner's death!"

"Then what, Ivan? Does he go after the guy's boss and his boss and the boss's boss's boss?" Alfred stopped and thought. " _Maybe one too many bosses in that last one."_

"How can you be glib about this? Don't you even care? What if I'd been the one gunned down? It's only a matter of time, you know."

Alfred took a deep breath. "Ivan, sit down…"

"No!"

"Yes!" Alfred stood and pointed to a chair, using one of his crutches to balance with. "Sit, NOW."

Ivan blinked and stared at him, even as he was sinking into the chair.

"Okay, first off, how _dare_ you think that your death wouldn't affect me? We are closer than most married couples. We have cried, bled, vomited over each other. We've been to hell and back and the only reason the trip was worth it was because of you! The only reason I ever try is because of you."

"I…"

"Shut up, I'm talking, you're listening." Alfred stopped and eased himself back down, his eyes never leaving Ivan's. "Where was I? Oh, you accuse me of being glib; far from it, partner. I just know that if I lost you and I had a choice, I wouldn't want to live one day remembering you. I would rather end up drooling in a corner, than to face a day wondering what life would have been like with you still here. Maybe you're brave enough to face it, Ivan, but I'm not. What you see as a great cruelty, I see as a great kindness." He paused for a breath and made sure Ivan was still with him. "Francis isn't coming back and Antonio will never remember that. He's going to live his life out, but at least it'll be free from the 'what if's'. Maybe UNCLE's solution isn't the best, but it works and it's possibly the best solution of a bad situation. Would the KGB have been any kinder?"

"No." Ivan stopped and then continued. "Am I permitted to speak once again?"

"Sure, why not?" Alfred reclaimed his glass of scotch, draining it. "The floor is yours."

"You're right, of course, I did misjudge you, and for that, I am sorry. And I am stronger than you, for I would rather be _dead_ than to live without the memory of you and our time together- especially if that memory is all that is left me. I don't want to lose that."

"You wouldn't, unless you convinced UNCLE otherwise. You do have a choice… here."

"You make grand gestures Alfred, but in the end, there is very little difference between our countries. When all is said and done, we are merely a means to their end."

"They ask us to pay a terrible price and we do, just as any soldier would. I'm not saying what they did to Tony was right, but it was definitely for the best. If they hadn't, he'd be dead."

"And how is that better, please?"

"He'll have a chance now to live, maybe find someone, get married, and have a mess of kids. He'll get an opportunity at a life we'll never have. Maybe he'll name one of his kids Francis or maybe his dog; he'll like the name, but he won't know why. Tell me the great injustice in that."

"I won't; it is what you need to make this right with you." Ivan took one last drink from the bottle and stood. Alfred got to his feet as well.

"Where are you going?"

"Home. I feel a great need to sleep."

"You are too drunk to drive, Ivan."

"Then I shall walk."

"You're too drunk to walk."

"I am far from drunk my friend."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Alfred raised a fist, his threat silent, but still loud enough.

"In your dreams."

"And yours." Alfred pointed to the bedroom. "Go."

He thought Ivan was going to take him up on his challenge, but after a moment, he lurched in the direction of the bedroom.

Alfred let go of the breath he was holding. He hadn't meant to get quite that personal, but the reality was that Ivan wouldn't have listened to anything else. He gathered up the glasses and with one crutch, hobbled to the kitchen. He made a second trip back to tuck the Scotch bottle into its spot and carried the nearly empty vodka bottle back to the freezer.

After checking the locks and the security system, Alfred shut off the lights and made his way into the bedroom. Ivan had already stripped down to his shorts and tee shirt and was sprawled out on one side of the bed. Alfred headed instead to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He felt a little sick, a little giddy, relieved that he'd revealed himself, worried about what Ivan might say tomorrow.

He sat and slowly unwound the elastic bandage from his knee. It didn't look much better than it had earlier, but he knew better than to sleep with it wrapped. He took a couple of aspirin in lieu of the painkillers the doctors loved to press on him, and made his way to the bed.

Alfred didn't bother to try to hide his movements as he climbed into bed. Ivan was either dead to the world or had been aware of his every move since he'd entered the room. It felt great to be in a bed that was familiar. More than that, it felt good to know that for one more day, they were okay, they were safe, and they were whole.

* * *

Ivan woke with a start and the knowledge that if he didn't urinate in the next thirty seconds, it would be game over. He ignored the muscles that screamed at him; they'd still be there when he finished. And they were.

Alfred's bottle of aspirin stood on the shelf and Ivan dumped a few into his hand and popped them in his mouth, chewing them. The sharp bitterness made him wince, but it was all fair in love and war. He trudged back to bed and settled down. Alfred was too far asleep to stop him from leaving, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. It was a cold world outside this room. Ivan settled back down on his left side and stared up at the wall, replaying their conversation from earlier.

Was what UNCLE had done a kindness? It didn't feel that way to him and yet Alfred saw it as such. It enabled him to get through the next day and the one following that and not go insane.

Alfred mumbled something, rolled and draped an arm over Ivan's waist, a comfortable and comforting presence. Perhaps Alfred was right and they were an old married couple. They certainly had that level of familiarity with each other. _About the only thing we don't share is the sex,_ and Ivan smirked. He'd not be having _that_ conversation with Alfred any time soon.

Alfred murmured again and Ivan smiled. He laid his arm over Alfred's, his hand covering his partner's with room to spare. Ivan still felt that a great injustice had been done to Tony, but until he was in the same position, who was he to judge? He just hoped he'd never **,** _ever_ , have to find out.

END OF STORY

* * *

 **A/N:**

Thank you reading my story; I greatly appreciate it! If you're unfamilar with my works, I usually post an A/N, or two, explaining the story I written. If you would, read the Note!

This story is based off the series _The Man From UNCLE_. _The Man from U.N.C.L.E._ is an American spy fiction television series broadcast on NBC. It follows secret agents, played by Robert Vaughn and David McCallum, who work for a secret international counter-espionage and law enforcement agency called U.N.C.L.E. Originally, co-creator Sam Rolfe wanted to leave the meaning of U.N.C.L.E. ambiguous so it could refer to either "Uncle Sam" or the United Nations.

The series centered on a two-man troubleshooting team working for U.N.C.L.E. (United Network Command for Law and Enforcement): American Napoleon Solo (Robert Vaughn), and Russian Illya Kuryakin (David McCallum). Leo G. Carroll played Alexander Waverly, an English head of the organization. Barbara Moore joined the cast as Lisa Rogers in the fourth season.

The series, though fictional, achieved such cultural prominence that props, costumes and documents, and a video clip are in the Ronald Reagan Presidential Library's exhibit on spies and counterspies. Similar U.N.C.L.E. exhibits are in the museums of the Central Intelligence Agency and other US agencies and organizations gathering intelligence.

In relevance to the story, Ivan is Illya, and Alfred, Napoleon. Some of the characters might not be familiar to you, so I'll break them down:

Romano Vargas is Southern Italy

Francis Bonnefoy is France

Antonio Carreido is Spain

Ludwig Beilschmidt is Germany

Dr. Wang Yao is China

Marrielle is Monaco

Michelle is Seychelles

Enrique Salazar is Barcelona

Arthur Kirkland is England

* * *

Now for Antonio and Francis.

 **France and Spain Relations**

From the Spanish Embassy in France.

Presentation

Contents; Political relations; Visits and meetings; Economic relations; Cultural, scientific and technical cooperation and Other cooperation

Political relations

The pace of our bilateral institutional relationship has, since 1985, been set by bi-annual French-Spanish meetings ("summits" chaired by the President of the Republic on the French side and the President of the Government on the Spanish side, and High-Level Meetings, chaired by the French Prime Minister), which have helped forge a strong relationship between our two countries. The 24ᵗʰ bilateral summit, held in Paris on 1 December 2014, helped demonstrate our considerable converging positions on means of bringing the eurozone out of the crisis (priority for investment and youth employment, etc.), highlight our shared belief that Europe should finance energy and rail interrconnection projects, and illustrate our similar views on the major international issues of the time (Sahel, Syria, Iran).

Visits and meetings

Eight Ministers accompanied the President of the Republic and Prime Minister at the 27 November 2013 summit in Madrid. In December 2014, for the Franco-Spanish summit in Paris, Mr Hollande received Mr Rajoy, who came with 7 Ministers and 2 Secretaries of State. On 4 March 2015, the French President, Spanish President of the Government, Portuguese Prime Minister and European Commission President met in Madrid to chair a Summit on energy interconnections. Lastly, from 2-4 June 2015, King Felipe VI and Queen Letizia were received in Paris for their first State visit (initially scheduled for 24-26 March but postponed following the crash of the GermanWings plane carrying some 50 Spanish citizens).

Economic relations

France is Spain's top economic partner, with annual trade totalling more than €60 billion.

In 2012, France's trade balance with Spain worsened considerably, with a deficit for the first time of €1.6 billion, having posted a surplus of €6.4 billion in 2007. In 2014 our trade surplus was restored, at €730 million, and 2015 confirmed this upward trend (€915 million). Transport equipment is the main trade between France and Spain, despite regression since 2005; in this area, we have had a deficit since 2007 but this improved considerably (+56.7%) in 2014 (-€1.7 billion, compared to -€2.5 billion in 2013). France has had a trade deficit in the agrifood sector since 1999, having previously produced a comfortable surplus. This deficit was stable compared to the previous year in 2014, standing at €1.4 billion.

The positions of our businesses remain stable since 2010, at around 11% market share, after considerable erosion in the early 2000s, while the market shares of German companies have grown (12.1% in 2014, compared to 11.2% in 2013). France thus remained Spain's second-largest supplier in 2014, behind Germany, and its leading customer, whereas Spain is France's third-largest customer (two places higher than in 2013) and sixth-largest supplier.

In 2013, our balance on services posted a deficit of about €2 billion with Spain. The tourism sector is a major component of that. In 2014, six million Spanish tourists visited France, a 12% rise on 2013. The Spanish are the third largest European contingent of visitors to Paris, behind the British and Germans.

There is considerable investment in both directions: France remains the third-largest investor in Spain (behind the UK and USA), with more than 2,000 subsidiaries there employing more than 300,000 people. French companies in Spain stand out through their key roles in certain specific markets like supermarkets, the automobile industry and telecommunications. Meanwhile, Spanish companies have more than 1,300 sites in France and employ more than 55,000 people.

Lastly, concerning the financial sector, French banks are the leading holders of Spanish public debt (5.4% of the total).

Cultural, scientific and technical cooperation

Despite the crisis in Spain, cooperation between our two countries is dynamic and on a large scale in the educational, linguistic and cultural sectors. On 28 March 2015, a satellite of the Pompidou Museum was inaugurated in Malaga, and is emblematic of this cooperation.

The French cultural network in Spain gives us a balanced presence across the country, with six Instituts Français (French Institutes) or satellites (Barcelona, Bilbao, Madrid, Zaragoza, Seville and Valencia) and 20 Alliances françaises. Although French is the second most-taught foreign language, its position remains fragile, as a second European modern language is not compulsory at school.

Educational and language cooperation

Almost 2 million French people are learning Spanish, and 1.3 million Spanish people are learning French. The French school network in Spain is the largest in Europe and third-largest globally, behind Lebanon and Morocco. Spain also has 342 bilingual sections with 27,000 pupils. Moreover, France is the second-largest destination for Spanish students in mobility programmes (more than 6,000 in 2013-2014, neck-and-neck with the UK). In 2008, an agreement on a dual certification at the end of secondary studies (known as the Bachibac Agreement) was signed by the respective Education Ministers. It sets down arrangements for the creation of a curriculum allowing candidates to obtain both the French and Spanish baccalaureates. The intergovernmental framework agreement on linguistic, educational and cultural schemes in schools, signed in Madrid on 16 May 2005, consolidated French bilingual sections.

Scientific and technical cooperation

Cooperation agreements are in place between the major French research and development bodies (e.g. National Centre for Scientific Research – CNRS, National Institute of Health and Medical Research – INSERM, National Institute for Agronomic Research – INRA, and the Research Institute for Exploitation of the Sea – IFREMER) and their Spanish counterparts. Collaboration in the framework of CNRS tools concerns 5 international scientific cooperation programmes, 2 associated European laboratories (LEA) and 10 joint participations in European and international research groups (GDRE/GDRI).

Other cooperation Police cooperation

Police cooperation, and particularly counter-terrorism, continues to produce very good results. The weakness of ETA is the result of arrests in both France and Spain. On 20 October 2011, an ETA communiqué announced a definitive end to its armed activities after 43 years of violence. However, this declaration involved neither the dissolution of the group or the surrender of weapons. The fight against Islamist terrorism is another thrust of our cooperation.

Cross-border cooperation

In cross-border cooperation, interconnections are a key political and economic question for Spain:

Rail infrastructure: on the Mediterranean side, the 44-kilometre high-speed rail link between Perpignan and Figueras is a key section of the Madrid-Barcelona-Paris route and was inaugurated in January 2011. Perpignan and Figueras are thus linked by a direct, 8-kilometre cross-border tunnel at Le Perthus, which has enabled a 70% increase in traffic. Lengthening work on the Spanish side has been completed since 2013, and Perpignan is now potentially 50 minutes from Barcelona by train. The inauguration of this high-speed line from Perpignan to Barcelona took place in December 2013. On the Atlantic side, the "Dax-Vitoria" high-speed line is in an advanced construction phase on the Spanish side. The Bordeaux-border section was decided in late March 2012, with the aim of beginning the official inquiry in 2013. However, the French parliamentary report "Mobilité 21" recommended postponing the project's implementation on the French side beyond 2030. Electrical interconnections: an extra-high voltage cable between Baixas and Santa Llogaia, doubling electricity capacity, was inaugurated by the French Prime Minister and the Spanish President of the Government on 20 February 2015. An extra-high voltage submarine cable is being studied for the Bay of Biscay. Gas interconnections: Spain has a structural gas surplus and needs to re-export the gas it imports from the South and from its 6 LNG terminals (of 16 in Europe) towards the North. On the Atlantic side, work is currently underway to reinforce the Larrau and Biriatou pipelines (in Navarre and the Basque Country) to bring up capacity to 7.5Gm³/year, or the equivalent of 20% of Spain's consumption. That is three times the exchange capacity in 2010. Maritime highways: the Nantes-Gijon (Asturias) maritime highway, operated by the French company Louis Dreyfus, was inaugurated in September 2010. It saw greater traffic than expected but had to suspend its activities in September 2014. Means are being sought at European level to identify funding that could support the project (which received starter financing for two years). A second maritime highway from Vigo (Galicia) was launched in early 2015 to serve Algeciras, Saint-Nazaire and Le Havre.

USEFUL LINKS Diplomatic Photo Gallery France / Spain (in French) Links More information on the website of the ministry (in French) Embassy of France in Spain Embassy of Spain in France.

 **For more information, type up French and Spanish relations.**

 **So, that's why Antonio is distraught over Francis's death.**

 **Sorry for any grammatical errors or historical inaccuracies.**

Anyway, I hoped you like this work! If you want, check out my other stories involving Alfred/America and Ivan/Russia, or any other characters if you like!

 **Thank you!**

 **~Enchanting Grace**


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